20,000 Leagues Under The Sea. Жюль Верн
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gaining a yard. It was humiliating for one of the quickest vessels in the American navy. The crew began to get very angry. The sailors swore at the animal, who did not deign to answer them. The captain not only twisted his beard, he began to gnaw it too. The engineer was called once more.
‘Have you reached your maximum of pressure?’ asked the captain.
‘Yes sir.’
The captain ordered him to do all he could without absolutely blowing up the vessel, and coal was at once piled up on the fires. The speed of the frigate increased. Her masts shook again. The log was again heaved, and this time she was making nineteen miles and three-tenths.
‘All steam on!’ called out the captain.
The engineer obeyed. The manometer marked ten degrees. But the cetacean did the nineteen miles and three-tenths as easily as the eighteen and five-tenths.
What a chase! I cannot describe the emotion that made my whole being vibrate again. Ned Land kept at his post, harpoon in hand. The animal allowed itself to be approached several times. Sometimes it was so near that the Canadian raised his hand to hurl the harpoon, when the animal rushed away at a speed of at least thirty miles an hour, and even during our maximum of speed it bullied the frigate, going round and round it.
A cry of fury burst from all lips. We were not further advanced at twelve o’clock than we had been at eight. Captain Farragut then made up his mind to employ more direct means.
‘Ah!’ said he, ‘so that animal goes faster than my ship! Well, we’ll see if he’ll go faster than a conical bullet. Master, send your men to the forecastle.’
The forecastle gun was immediately loaded and pointed. It was fired, but the ball passed some feet above the cetacean, which kept about half a mile off.
‘Let some one else try!’ called out the captain. ‘Five hundred dollars to whomsoever will hit the beast!’
An old gunner with a gray beard – I think I see now his calm face as he approached the gun – put it into position and took a long aim. A loud report followed and mingled with the cheers of the crew.
The bullet reached its destination; it struck the animal, but, gliding off the rounded surface, fell into the sea two miles off.
‘Malediction!’ cried the captain; ‘that animal must be clad in six-inch iron plates. But I’ll catch it, if I have to blow up my frigate!’
It was to be hoped that the animal would be exhausted, and that it would not be indifferent to fatigue like a steam-engine. But the hours went on, and it showed no signs of exhaustion.
It must be said, in praise of the Abraham Lincoln, that she struggled on indefatigably. I cannot reckon the distance we made during this unfortunate day at less than 300 miles. But night came on and closed round the heaving ocean.
At that minute, I believed our expedition to be at an end, and that we should see the fantastic animal no more.
I was mistaken, for at 10.50 p.m. the electric light reappeared, three miles windward to the frigate, clear and intense as on the night before.
The narwhal seemed motionless. Perhaps, fatigued with its day’s work, it was sleeping in its billowy cradle. That was a chance by which the captain resolved to profit.
He gave his orders. The Abraham Lincoln was kept up at half-steam, and advanced cautiously so as not to awaken her adversary. It is not rare to meet in open sea with whales fast asleep, and Ned Land had harpooned many a one in that condition. The Canadian went back to his post under the bowsprit.
The frigate noiselessly approached, and stopped at two cables’ length from the animal. No one breathed. A profound silence reigned on deck. We were not 1000 feet from the burning focus, the light of which increased and dazzled our eyes.
At that minute, leaning on the forecastle bulwark, I saw Ned Land below me, holding the martingale with one hand and with the other brandishing his terrible harpoon, scarcely twenty feet from the motionless animal.
All at once he threw the harpoon, and I heard the sonorous stroke of the weapon, which seemed to have struck a hard body.
The electric light suddenly went out, and two enormous waterspouts fell on the deck of the frigate, running like a torrent from fore to aft, upsetting men, and breaking the lashing of the spars.
A frightful shock followed. I was thrown over the rail before I had time to stop myself, and fell into the sea.
CHAPTER 7 A Whale of an Unknown Species
Although I was surprised by my unexpected fall, I still kept a very distinct impression of my sensations. I was at first dragged down to a depth of about twenty feet. I was a good swimmer, and this plunge did not make me lose my presence of mind. Two vigorous kicks brought me back to the surface.
My first care was to look for the frigate. Had the crew seen me disappear? Had the Abraham Lincoln veered round? Would the captain have a boat lowered? Might I hope to be saved?
The darkness was profound. I perceived a black mass disappearing in the east, the beacon lights of which were dying out in the distance. It was the frigate. I gave myself up.
‘Help! help!’ cried I, swimming towards the frigate with desperate strokes.
My clothes embarrassed me. The water glued them to my body. They paralysed my movements. I was sinking.
‘Help!’ rang out again in the darkness.
This was the last cry I uttered. My mouth filled with water. I struggled not to be sucked into the abyss.
Suddenly my clothes were seized by a vigorous hand, and I felt myself brought back violently to the surface of the water, and I heard – yes, I heard these words uttered in my ear, –
‘If monsieur will have the goodness to lean on my shoulder, monsieur will swim much better.’
I seized the arm of my faithful Conseil.
‘You!’ I cried – ‘you!’
‘Myself,’ answered Conseil, ‘at monsieur’s service.’
‘Did the shock throw you into the sea too?’
‘No; but being in the service of monsieur, I followed him.’
The worthy fellow thought that quite natural.
‘What about the frigate?’ I asked.
‘The frigate!’ answered Conseil, turning on his back; ‘I think monsieur will do well not to count upon the frigate.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, as I jumped into the sea, I heard the man at the helm call out, “The screw and the rudder are broken.”’
‘Broken?’
‘Yes, by the monster’s tusk. It is the only damage she has sustained, I think, but without a helm she can’t do anything for us.’
‘Then we are lost!’
‘Perhaps,’ answered Conseil tranquilly. ‘In the mean-time we have still several hours before us, and in several hours many things may happen.’
The sang-froid of Conseil did me good. I swam more vigorously, but encumbered by my garments, which dragged me down like a leaden weight, I found it extremely difficult to keep up. Conseil perceived it.
‘Will monsieur allow me to make a slit?’ said he. And, slipping an open knife under my clothes, he slit them rapidly from top to bottom. Then he quickly helped me off with them whilst I swam for both. I rendered him the same service, and we went on swimming near each other.
In the meantime our situation was none the less terrible. Perhaps our disappearance had not been remarked, and even if it had,